


To Keep a Secret

by Agent25



Series: One Love for the Heart [9]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent25/pseuds/Agent25
Summary: That wasn’t just any Caucasian, male model sucking face with the African king.It was one James Buchanan Barnes.“Wait,” Everett screeched as the door clicked shut. “You’re sleeping with the Winter Soldier?!?”ORHow Everett Ross met T'Challa's boyfriend.





	To Keep a Secret

“Oh, come on!” Everett Ross cursed as he was once again erratically cut off while driving through the hectic streets of Madrid. Anyone who said that Spaniards were laidback had clearly never driven among them during rush hour. He laid on his horn, feeling a tinge vindictive as he flipped them the bird while speeding past the European car.

The usually cool as a cucumber CIA agent was feeling a bit…tense.

A mission gone wrong had sent the JCTC offices tail-spinning as well as the revelation of a new terrorist organization in the Middle East. Days like these, he really wished he had Sharon Carter back as his right hand agent. She had been rational, poised and competent beyond belief…or at least she had been up until she made _goo-goo eyes_ at Captain America and took off with him and his merry band of fugitives after the catastrophe in Berlin.

But that was neither here nor there. 

And to top off the throbbing migraine developing at the base of his skull? T’Challa was in town.

The Wakandan King and his sister were in the city to meet with the World Tourism Organization to begin the process of opening Wakanda’s borders, as per T’Challa’s promise almost a year ago in Vienna. Of course, through his numerous channels, the monarch had learned that Ross was currently stationed in the Spanish capital and had invited him to his hotel suite to talk business.

Wakanda, while opening its borders, was still rightfully wary of the world’s intentions with the advanced African nation and the resources it held. T’Challa only wanted to negotiate with someone he trusted implicitly. Which just happened to be none other than Everett Ross.

It seemed that taking down a tyrannical psychopath with dreams of world destruction had a way of bonding people together.

Everett was now a Friend of Wakanda. Friend with a capital F, of course.

He even had an honorary Wakandan medal and everything. It was hanging in his living room, the first thing one saw when entering his apartment. He’s wasn’t showy, but really, how many people had a medal from a king? Of course Everett was going to show that bad boy off.

So here he was, fighting his way through traffic to hobnob with royalty.

Everett was able to make it to T’Challa’s hotel without any further problems, other than the ten minutes it took to find a parking spot on the bustling street. He emerged from his car, suit jacket stiff across his shoulders, and with coffee in hand as he walked forward. Of course, because the universe loved messing with him, he was immediately jostled as his coffee cup was raised towards his lips.

He stumbled over his feet, hot liquid splashing onto his cashmere tie.

“Son of a – “ he swore loudly as he immediately began batting at the stain with his pocket square. No matter how hard he pressed, a brown smudge stubbornly remained on the purple tie.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as he marched into the hotel lobby. It was a high end vestibule, because of course T’Challa wouldn’t shack up at the nearest Hilton. Only plebs did that. He sauntered up to the front desk, sliding his CIA badge over promptly.

“Everett Ross, here to see His Highness, the King of Wakanda.”

The concierge’s eyes flashed as she picked up her phone, speaking in rapid fire Spanish. Moments later she was hanging up, turning to the agent with a smile as she handed him back his ID.

“One moment, Agent Ross.”

 _“Gracias,”_ he said hurriedly as he stepped away from the desk, his foot tapping away as he idly scoped out the lobby. He didn’t have to wait long. The elevators dinged and out stepped General Okoye’s second-in-command, Ayo. She was dressed in stilettos to kill, a tight black dress, and with her silver _indzila_ necklaces wrapped tightly around her neck. She looked more like a CEO than a warrior, though Everett was sure she had at least three weapons expertly hidden on her person.

Her face remained neutral as she strolled towards him. “Agent Ross,” she greeted with a nod of her head, her accented voice very different than the lyrical Spanish had he become accustomed to during his time in Madrid.

“Yeah, hi.” he replied as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets so as not to fidget. Every time he interacted with a member of the Dora Milaje, it always seemed like they viewed him as a baby gazelle who had wandered away from the herd and was about to be pounced on by a lioness. It was equal parts disconcerting as it was insulting.

“Come,” Ayo gracefully gestured to the elevators, “The King awaits you.”

Well, Everett didn’t need to be told that twice. With the Dora Milaje you listened or you were removed from the premises with spears aimed at your back.

He followed the warrior and slipped into the elevator, standing next to her as it ascended towards the penthouse suite. Silence consumed the two with Ayo staring determinedly ahead and Everett having no idea what to talk about. Does one talk about the weather with a Dora Milaje? Do they care about the economy?

Luckily for him, just as he was opening his mouth to put his foot in it, the elevator came to a stop and the two stepped out into a palatial lodging that definitely belonged to a king.

“Wow,” he murmured appreciatively as he whistled. This was a far cry from his one bedroom apartment.

“The King is waiting for you down the hall,” Ayo cut into his daydreams as she nodded in the right direction. Everett swiveled that way and when he saw that the woman wouldn’t be escorting him, he awkwardly waved his appreciation before taking off. Moments later he emerged into a large living area filled with couches and arm chairs. Sprawled out across a chaise was none other than Wakanda's own princess, Shuri.

She was dressed in a bright array of colors with a striped skirt and a roomy, blue jacket thrown over a graphic t-shirt with white sneakers on her feet. Her hair was in two mini buns atop her head and large headphones were hanging off her neck as she tapped away on a cellphone.

“So primitive,” she complained as her thumb swiped across the screen, “A baboon could create something better than this.”

Everett cleared his throat, suppressing his smile when Shuri’s head shot up. She gave a friendly yell as she jumped up from the couch, shuffling towards the CIA agent.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite colonizer!” she addressed with a wide smile. Instead of going in for a handshake or hug, she simply held out her fist towards him. He stared at it, perplexed. Was this some kind of Wakandan greeting that hadn’t been in his dossier? What was he expected to do? So, very slowly, he held out his hand and covered her fist with it, shaking it once.

Shuri only stared at him for a long moment, judgement clear in her gaze before she shrugged. “Eh, we’ll work on it.”

Everett smiled primly as he rolled back onto the balls of his feet. “How are you, Princess?”

The teenager was quick to wave him off, “I saved your life, call me Shuri.”

Everett coughed politely, “Okay, Shuri. I was expecting to meet with your brother…is he around?”

He glanced around the room, missing the way the princess’ eyes twinkled mischievously as a grin spread across her young face.

“Oh, yes,” she chimed in, “He’s waiting for you, in there.”

She pointed to the closed door behind her. Everett raised an eyebrow as he followed her outstretched hand.

“In there?” he questioned, “Really?”

Shuri’s head bobbed quickly as she nodded, “He told me to tell you to head right on in. You don’t even need to knock. Go straight in.”

Everett’s eyes narrowed as he stared suspiciously at the young royal. “Straight in? You’re sure?”

“Of course I am!” she told him as she smacked his arm. “Why would I lie?”

Why indeed? Deciding to have faith in his newest friend, Everett walked towards the door. Shuri watched him go, giggling as she quickly sped out of the room. Everett paused at the door before bottling up all his fortitude and reaching for the doorknob, twisting it as he opened the door.

“Your Highness – AAAAH!”

Everett yelped, the shock of what he was staring at burning his eyes. His body went numb and his coffee cup went sailing out of his grip, crashing to the floor below as its lukewarm contents pooled out across the floor.

Before him was a sight he had never expected to see. T’Challa – the steadfast, warrior king of Wakanda – was pressed against a desk, arms wrapped tightly around a man standing in between the monarch’s legs. Their mouths had been locked together in fierce battle, tongues dueling one another as they kissed passionately. The two had ceased eating each other’s faces at Everett’s yell, but were still intertwined with another as they stared at the agent in surprise.

Both men's faces were flushed, chests heaving with exertion. T’Challa’s suit jacket was hastily undone, buttons eschewed. The other man’s leather jacket and Henley were scattered across the floor. His long hair was a mess and it was clear fingers had been running through it, tangling it up with reckless abandon. Everett gulped and hastily looked away when he realized one of the stranger’s pale hands was unceremoniously shoved down the waistband of T’Challa’s trousers.

It was official. Shuri was no longer his favorite Wakandan.

It was odd though, the man he looked almost… _familiar._ Where had he seen him before?

The three men stood in engrossing silence as the king and his friend (Lover? Boyfriend?) stared at Everett and Everett just wished the floor would swallow him whole. This was not what he expected when he had signed up for the CIA almost twenty years ago. Danger, excitement, but not whatever _this_ was.

Surprisingly enough, it was the man wrapped around T’Challa who recovered first. He turned to the king and remarked lightly.

“See, I told you a quickie was a bad idea.”

Everett choked on air, still refusing to look at the pair. He heard, more than saw, the huffed laughter of T’Challa.

“If I remember correctly, James, it was _your_ idea.”

The man’s grinned leeringly as he leaned in towards the monarch, his breath caressing T’Challa’s face.

“So it was.”

He looked ready to gear up for a kiss and T’Challa seemed ready to accept it, only for the lovebirds to be interrupted once again as Everett coughed loudly, vein nearly bulging out of his forehead. The migraine had just been upgraded to a possible stroke. Could he have a stroke at his age?

“Um…hello? Still here.” he waved his arms, still not looking at the amorous couple.

“Everett,” T’Challa called out to him, “Can you give us a moment, please?”

Everett nodded dumbly as he slowly backed out, eyes latching onto the sight of T’Challa’s _person_ standing before the king with an unabashed grin.

Really, where he had seen him before?

Suddenly, it came to him.

That wasn’t just any Caucasian, male model sucking face with the African king.

It was one James Buchanan Barnes.

“Wait,” Everett screeched as the door clicked shut. “You’re sleeping with the Winter Soldier?!?”

All he could do was stand there dumbfounded as he gawked at the closed door. He was never going to unseen what he had seen. The image was seared into his brain forever, like a scar.

T’Challa…was in some kind of relationship the Winter Soldier.

How was this his life? Really, what had he done to deserve this special form of torture?

Just before he could start questioning every decision in his life that had brought him here, the door opened and out slipped the Winter Soldier himself. His shirt and jacket were on, but Everett could still see the damage inflicted from their little…hanky-panky. A hickey was quickly forming at the base of the assassin’s neck and his lips were bruised from an indecently thorough make-out session. His hair was still a wild mess as it framed his face.

Barnes sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck as he made eye contact with Everett. “Agent Ross…nice to see you again.”

Everett blinked. _Nice to see you again?_ What the hell was he supposed to do with that? The last time he had seen this guy he had been running amok through the Berlin offices of the JCTC, creating chaos at every turn. It had taken weeks to clean up after him. He had put more than 20 of his best agents in the hospital. They had lost a perfectly good helicopter. An airport was all but destroyed after Barnes got away.

And now, _it was nice to see you?!?_

He was grasping at straws before he finally – and hesitantly – answered, “…you too?”

Barnes nervously licked his lips as he shifted from foot to foot, the two men locked in uncomfortable silence. As the two men stood there, Everett couldn’t help but notice Barnes’ left hand.

It wasn’t metal anymore.

His mouth dropped open and before he could do anything, a strikingly beautiful woman sashayed into the living room. The black dress, silver necklace and bald head immediately distinguished her as another member of the Dora Milaje. She was one of the younger ones, Everett remembered.

What was her name again?

Nobanzi? No. Naija? Unlikely. Nuru? No, wait –

“Njeri,” Barnes greeted, looking relieved at the woman’s presence. What did Barnes have to be uncomfortable about? It was Everett who was standing in the presence of a notorious murderer who just had his tongue shoved down T’Challa’s throat. He was the one who should be uncomfortable.

Njeri stopped, her dark gaze roving over Barnes, locking onto his hickey as she smirked teasingly.

_“Ngaba wayedlala?”_

Barnes chuckled as he shrugged easily, _“Ingayiyo.”_  

Oh, yeah. Real nice. Speaking Wakandan around the ignorant American. Hysterical.

Njeri only rolled her eyes before speaking in accented English, addressing Barnes all the same. “Come. The Princess found a tapas restaurant to eat at. It also has karaoke.”

Barnes brightened up immediately as he bounded to the woman’s side.

“Awesome. I’ve been working on my Billy Joel.”

The two exited the living room, Barnes saluting him over his shoulder as the two continued discussing the virtues of Mr. Long Island.

And with that, Everett Ross watched the most feared assassin in all of history – the man who killed _JFK_ – wander off in search of tapas and karaoke. How was this his life?

He shook his head as he whispered to himself, “I should have listened to my mother and become a doctor.”

The door swung open and T’Challa emerged. Unlike his murderous boy-toy, he seemed completely unruffled as he stepped out. His black suit was impeccable without any wrinkles and his face was impressively unreadable as he locked eyes with Everett.

“Hello, my friend.” he acknowledged warmly, reaching out and clasping Everett’s shoulders with a genial smile. Unfortunately for the king, Everett wasn’t having any of that diplomatic bullshit.

“What was that?” he demanded as he shook off T’Challa’s hands. They fell back to his sides as the monarch blankly raised an eyebrow.

“What was what?”

“That!” Everett yelled, pointing towards where Barnes had wandered off. T’Challa deeply exhaled as his eyes rolled towards the ceiling. It looked like he was asking for patience from whatever deity he believed in. Some kind of cat, Everett absentmindedly remembered.

“Please,” T’Challa spoke as he walked towards the couches, “Sit with me.”

Everett remained rooted to his spot, staring at the king incredulously. “No, I’m not going to sit.”

T’Challa only gazed at him imploringly, dark eyes glinting in the light. He didn’t beg or plead but remained resolutely silent, his conviction enough to carry him through the silence.

And suddenly Everett knew why T’Challa was a king.

He had a way of making people do what he wanted.

“Ugh!” he groaned, throwing his arms up in defeat. “Fine, I’ll sit.”

He ignored the tiny grin that curled across T’Challa’s face as Everett all but threw himself onto the couch. Across from him, T’Challa agilely lowered himself into a plush armchair, arms resting majestically on the sides. He sat with perfect posture, but not in a put upon way, it was completely natural as he held his head high, eyes centered on his friend.

“You better have a good reason for this,” Everett hissed, a twinge of hysteria in his voice. “I mean, this is insane, you’re harboring the Winter Soldier.”

“He is no longer the Winter Soldier,” T’Challa asserted smoothly, “He has not been for some time.”

Everett rolled his eyes so fiercely he was almost scared they’d pop out of his head. “Yeah, like that will really hold up in a court of law.”

T’Challa’s eyes narrowed, “He will not be placed in a court of law. He has committed no crime.”

“C-committed?!?” Everett sputtered, bug-eyed as he gaped at the king. “Committed no crime? Uh, Vienna.”

It didn’t escape Everett’s notice that T’Challa’s hands clenched tightly into fists at the mention of Vienna. Which, yeah, low blow on his part. But he had reasons!

“You and I both know that it was Zemo who was responsible for Vienna.” T’Challa lowly told him, face tight with anger. “It was _your_ custody I placed him into.”

Okay. He had him there. Barnes didn’t blow up the UN in Vienna. But that didn’t make him pure as a lamb.

“Okay, so he was innocent of _that_ crime, but last time I checked he had 70 years’ worth of other crimes to answer for.”

“What Hydra made him do is not his fault.” T’Challa volleyed back without missing a beat.

“No one else is going to believe that. He’s a wanted fugitive in practically every nation on Earth.”

“Not in Wakanda,” T’Challa declared, gaze locked with Everett’s. “And I do not care what others think. I know the truth.”

Everett stared helplessly at his friend. “You know, I’m obligated to report that you’re harboring an international terrorist.”

T’Challa’s eyes were solemn but he didn’t give in an inch as he spoke. “I understand your duty to your nation. I, too, have a duty to my own. James Barnes is of Wakanda now. He is under my protection and I will fight for him if it comes to that.”

T’Challa’s eyes were steely as he continued, “You, more than anyone else, know what resources I have at my disposal if someone dares try and take him from me. I will not hesitate against a perceived threat.”

A shiver ran up Everett’s spine as he peered at the man across from him. T’Challa, while giving nothing away, still emanated fierce determination to protect the man he had set his sights on. Everett had seen that look before, more than a year before when T’Challa had to fight to regain his throne.

It had seemed laughably impossible at the time, but T’Challa had done it. He had overcome the odds.

Everett believed T’Challa could do it again if someone so much as touched a single hair on Barnes’ head.

T’Challa, seeing the resigned look crossing Everett’s face, smiled slowly. “I trust we can keep this little secret between us, friend to friend.”

Everett blew out a breath, lightly shaking his head at the king. “Yeah, I guess if you can promise that he won’t try and kill the President, then I can… _overlook_ this. One question though.”

T’Challa blinked in surprise before arching a single eyebrow. “Yes?”

“What happened to his metal arm?” Everett paused as a radical thought entered his brain. “Wait, did you grow him a new limb?!? Is that possible in Wakanda?”

Laughter rumbled out of T’Challa as he threw his head back, a delighted smile appearing on his face.

“Grow an entire limb?” he laughingly asked as he wiped at the corner of his eye. “Now you are speaking of fantasy. No, it is one of my sister’s inventions. She has created a cloaking device that replicates both the appearance and feel of a human arm. If you were to touch it all you would feel was flesh and bone.”

He grinned fondly, thinking of his sister’s ingenuity. “It is really quite clever. And useful, of course, for him passing undetected while we are here.”

Everett refused to be disappointed at the answer as he fiddled with his cufflinks. “Of course.”

Amusement flashed through T’Challa’s eyes, almost as he if could tell what Everett was thinking. He thankfully didn’t find the need to meddle the agent as he stood up from his seat.

“Now, I do believe I heard something about tapas for dinner. You are more than welcome to join us.”

Everett mulled it over. Well, after a day like this, he deserved a feast on the monarch’s dime.

“Why not?” he asked as he slapped his knees, jumping up from the couch. “My day can’t possibly get any weirder.”

A broad smile crossed T’Challa’s face as he led Everett forward.

“You say that now, but you have never performed karaoke with my sister. It is an experience.”

And just like that Everett Ross was eating tapas with a king, a teenage genius with sass to spare, two beautiful but deadly fighters, and an assassin with a Billy Joel obsession.

Man, his life was weird.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Everett. His life has been turned upside down ever since befriending T'Challa. And now he has to put up with Bucky. The man deserves a raise. I did the doctor line as a bit of fun, seeing as Martin Freeman played one in Sherlock. 
> 
> Thanks for all the love you guys have shown the series. I'd love to hear your feedback. Any line in particular that was your favorite? I am a fan of Everett's "You're sleeping with the Winter Soldier?!?" 
> 
> Translations  
> Ngaba wayedlala? - Did he maul you?  
> Ingayiyo - Maybe 
> 
> (Using Google Translate, so I have no guarantees that these are 100% correct.) 
> 
> Pic time! 
> 
> Shuri's outfit:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/26750533557/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Bucky's outfit:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/26750533757/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> T'Challa's outfit:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/26750533387/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Njeri (she'll be appearing in future stories in this series):  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/26750533647/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Njeri's dress:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/157032205@N05/26750533717/in/dateposted-public/)


End file.
